


Pretending

by Gayneral



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Angst, Dead Character, Desperate times call for desperate measures, Enoch doesn't like feelings, Jup Victor's dead in this already, M/M, My First Fanfic, Pre-Movie(s), Unrequited Love, apologies in advance, how does tagging even work, movie-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayneral/pseuds/Gayneral
Summary: "There was silence that seemed to stretch endlessly where all he could do was stare down at the body that still looked so dead despite the sound of a beating heart filling his ears.
It made him feel both angry and stupid."
In which Enoch visits Victors body up in his room and indulges himself in a daydream





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Boyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Boyfriend).



> -This is literally my first fanfiction ever because I was always terribly scared of mischaracterization.  
> -I've only seen the movie this Thursday and have no clue about anything so apologies if things are off  
> -This is for my Boyfriend who told me he's sure that Enoch has some feelings for the Dead Boy  
> -I'm not a native speaker and have a huge problem with commas and times as you will realise  
> -My writing style is odd  
> -Posting on ao3 is hard and I'm suffering  
> -I tried and I hope someone will enjoy it

Deep blue night sky vanished into the light of the day, clouds pulling across of it in broad lines.  
The morning had laid over the house like a warm blanket, damp somehow, making the plants in the garden glisten in the uprising sunlight.

He didn't take awe in the beauty of a sunrise anymore, once it might've touched him in a way, how colours painted together.  
The way the light appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tainting everything in a warm mix of white, yellow and orange.  
But not anymore.  
Now a sunrise just functioned as a wake up call, something he was so used to, he barely realised it anymore.

It was slightly chilly outside, as always, it wasn't worth checking that out anymore and it hadn't mattered anyway.  
Not now most certainly.  
Not as things went on as always on a day that was as always.

As always as always.  
Endless stretch of the same over and over again.  
But yet not quite tiring, more the dull comfort of the simplicity of monotonousness.

As he walked down the hallway his shoulder scrapped against the wall on his left.  
He barely felt it, almost tiptoeing, pressed halfway into the wall, along the corridor.  
It wasn't exactly necessary to be this quiet.  
Most of the others were outside anyways, now that it was both warmer and later in the day, and no one would surely search for him if only he'd reappear on time later on.

But he still watched his steps.  
One might never know.

It felt as if what he was about to do was a crime, adrenaline pumping through his body, as if he hadn't done that about a million times already.

In a way it was a crime, well, it wasn't appreciated and he'd sure get a serious scolding if he'd be found out.  
And some looks from offended, hurt to simply not understanding.

He tried to avoid this.  
People's looks were getting old.

He was able to see the door now, hanging motionless in it's frame, a gate to something forbidden, something secret, locked away.  
His own heartbeat was going faster, as he reached for the door handle to press it down, metal cold under his fingertips.

A sneer appeared on his face as he internally scolded himself for being so ridiculously nervous about this.  
Of course he was aware why his body was giving off such a reaction but his mind feverishly tried to push against that knowledge.

He wasn't even exactly sure why he was still doing this, he should've given up on it a while ago, just should've let this rest but he couldn't.  
And so, he entered the room.

The door made a creaking sound that almost made him jump.

Within a second he had entered the room and the door was closed again behind him, leaving no evidence of someone entering.

He kept standing face to the wooden door for another while, preparing for something he'd seen often enough to not need any adjustment anymore.  
Still he turned slowly, as if expecting for something to have changed, even if that was impossible.

Standing turned to the bed now, he sighed, hands pushed deep into his pockets, fingers clawed into their thin material.  
The light, white canopy hung around it untouched, adding a almost ghosty aura to the view.

One of his shoulders brushed along it as he walked to the bedside, making it move slightly trough the contact in soft waves.

He didn't look at Victor until he's properly at his side, only the canopy seperating them, though not properly, as it was slightly see trough and he could already make out the familiar shape behind it, laying motionless on the matress.

The sight still somehow got him.

If it wouldn't be for the deep, completely black holes where the eyes once had been, it would've made a perfect illusion of the other boy merely sleeping.  
In the first days after it'd happened he'd somehow expect exactly this to be the case, his mind telling him that any time Victor would sit up and the spook would be over.

It never happened though.

Well.

It had, just not exactly out of the reason he'd daydreamed it to happen.

His eyes wandered to the heart floating in a undistinguishable glassy brown liquid over at the cupboard to his hip.  
Everything he desired was only inches away and yet completely out of reach.

God in heaven's had that sounded ridiculous.  
He shook his head vigorously, a few dark stands falling out of place in the process.  
Pushing them back with deeply furrowed brows he then moved a hand to the canopy, it felt weird in his fingers as he griped it, soft but somehow scratchy.

He moved it to the sides in a fast movement, it's not as if he could startle the boy in the bed anyways.  
What would care have any use even.

Now that he could see Victor without the thin material between them it's even more obvious how pale he is, the black holes where his eyes once had beeneven darker and somehow the sight still managed to make his guts feel as if they are held in a tight grip. 

It felt like a lifetime ago that he was still properly there but there's no help in reminiscing anyway so Enoch tried his very best to keep his thoughts away.  
From days spent in the shadows of the trees glaring over at him and his sister that he gave so much god forsaken attention to.  
From moments in silence next to each other.  
From the weird feeling pulling his eyes to Victor constantly.

He focused on the jar instead, that sat on the cupboard and pried the lid open just a little too forceful, almost angry for letting his thoughts go this way for even a split second.  
The heart inside lies still, a vessel for life, and he pulled it out with a lot more care, feeling it in his hand.

It's slightly slippery, all flesh and veins, it gives in a bit when he presses his fingers around it as it gets warm and alive in his touch.

Touching Victor had barely ever happened and maybe that's what made it feel so weird now.  
He wasn't even sure if the boy would've ever been okay with Enoch touching him, and he'd never find out.  
In this state it wasn't much to him, he just went for it, there would be no protests from the boy below him anyways, not while he was on it anyhow 

Unbuttoning the white sleep shirt he freed the cold white skin beneath it, fingertips gliding over it only for the blink of a second.  
Cold yet soft, not as Marmor hard as his skins colour implied, still soft.

With a gulp he pressed the heart into his chest, below rips and into to its rightful place where it start to beat at the instant.  
There was silence that seemed to stretch endlessly where all he could do was stare down at the body that still looked so dead despite the sound of a beating heart filling his ears.

It made him feel both angry and stupid. 

Nothing happened.  
Of course not.  
A beating heart in the chest meant nothing, he'd discovered so much long ago.  
It didn't mean life.  
Not really.  
After all he wasn't really able to bring people back from the dead, all he could do was make marionettes out of them.  
With no will, or personality.

It left Victor to be merely a shadow of himself, quiet and motionless unless Enoch told him otherwise.

There was no point in doing this. 

No point. 

Still he made the boy sit up, rustling of the blanket and soft creaking of the bed filling the room.

With another whisper into the silence the body turned, making Victor face him now.  
His hair is slightly dishevelled and Enoch almost reached out to brush it back into place.  
He stoped midair and lets his hand fall back down.

_"Pointless_ ,rings in his ears.

Neither of them moved for what feels like ten minutes and all Enoch did was stare, taking in the sight of Victor across of him that looked like always, but so did he, after all.

He knows that a part of Victor realises all this, of his body being brought back to life and of what it's made to do.  
Once he felt pity for that  
He doesn't really anymore.

Somehow he feels so desperate, half crouching there, next to the bed of someone that's, face it, dead, making him move to hold up the illusion of him not being entirely gone.  
As if Victor would've cared about that.

Maybe he would, a tiny voice inside of his head whispers and he shook his head as if it could make the thought fall out of it like a ripe apple from a tree.

Stop this now and leave this room for once and all, he tried to tell himself  
But he never did exactly what he's told and Yes, he is desperate, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

Rather swallow his own tongue than admit that it felt nice to pretend.  
Pretend that Victor had cared in a way.  
Make him do it now and pretend it wasn't he himself guiding the movements as he makes the boy lift a hand to his face.

Victors palm is a little too cold but that's nothing a little imagination can't make disappear.  
It feels solid against his cheek, comforting and real.  
And almost enough.

But he's always wanted more than he could get.  
He'd always been so sickly greedy.

His own voice was a little deeper, as he tried to make it sound like Victors does in his memory when he made the boy lean further torwards him, letting the others lips move as if he was the one saying those words.

_"I love you Enoch"_

There's silence. 

And then he abruptly let's the control over Victor slide. 

The hand fell from his cheek and the body crashed down onto the matress with a soft thump.  
And within a second the whole illusion has vanished,popped like a bubble. 

"Who am I even trying to fool here?"  
he spat out into the room, sounding a lot more hurt than he liked. 

He pried the heart back out of the chest and almost threw it into the jar, closing the lid in a hurry. 

Enoch doesn't put Victors lifeless body into place again.  
Oh they should all as well find out that he'd been in here, playing his sick games, shall he receive a scolding, whatever.  
This had all been stupid anyway. 

So utterly pointless.  
Meaningless.  
He tried to indulge himself so badly he'd missed how utterly ridiculous his behaviour had been.  
Victor was dead and gone and even if he hadn't been, he'd never felt like this for him anyway. 

Daydreams were stupid. 

He left the room without another look back, picking up the shattered pieces of his ego and his self-control and slammed the door behind him. 

No one is even remotely suprised about his mood. 

He doesn't return to the room for a long while. 

He doesn't see the tear that had rolled over Victors ice pale face. 


End file.
